


seperti beringin yang merindu rembulan

by magma_maiden



Series: heartless, dragonless, sunless [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - ASOIAF, F/M, Female Ootsutsuki Indra, Female Senju Hashirama, Gen, Lore Snippets - Dragonless, Multi, Targaryen!Uchiha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 15:38:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12435957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magma_maiden/pseuds/magma_maiden
Summary: like the banyan who longed for the moon, hashirama counted the nights until her meeting with madara





	seperti beringin yang merindu rembulan

**Author's Note:**

> naruto (c) masashi kishimoto  
> a song of ice and fire (c) george r. r. martin  
> i do not take any material profits from this fanwork
> 
> this work ties with ficlets i marked with _dragonless_ on the chapter titles.  
>  please check the series' explanation.
> 
> hashi is about 19 here. worldbuilding. originally posted on facebook but i copy it here for safekeeping.

_Keep running._

It didn’t feel right; Tobirama and Touka were not in the woods, they ran towards the north—their initial destination, but her bare feet carried Hashirama westwards, deeper into this strange, snow covered forest. The fur cloak she stole, made for a man twice larger than her, flapped around herself. Her arms were full of scratches as she pushed her way through the dense foliage. Touka’s words rang in her mind: _whatever happens, you two must never return to the palace_.

 _So keep running_.

The raw power that ran in her veins was still alight; it made her entire being—mind, body and soul _burn_. Burning like the sun when it reached its zenith. Scorching, unavoidable. The heat wasn’t like an Uchiha-conjured fireball; but entirely pleasant and oddly familiar to her. Nourishing instead of destroying.

She was drawing something else with her own chakra when the voice interjected, making her fingers formed different seals than she had intended. Then the woods sprang forth from the covered soil, separating her from her chasers, and trapping them in a makeshift large cage. She remembered Madara broke free and ran after her. She remembered the look of hurt on his face when she refused his offer of protection if she came back with him. She remembered the fire he breathed to destroy her wooden restraints.

Hashirama remembered how broke her heart was when she paused to breathe, thinking about her executed father, her brother and cousin running through the wilderness towards the bitter north, and the uncertain future the empire was facing. Fatigue blurred her senses, and she swore she saw dancing trees before she fell into the snow.

 _Look at me_.

 _But I’m tired_ , Hashirama pleaded. _Let me sleep._

A snap, and her psyche jolted awake. It took her awhile until she realized she wasn’t in the forest anymore. Instead she lay on a watery floor that gleamed golden, surrounded by vast darkness. It felt unreal, but she knew it wasn’t.

“You nearly died, you know?”

With the reflex of a trained warrior, Hashirama flipped to standing position. Before her stood a broad shouldered man clad in white robe. The style of his attire was odd; she never saw it before even though she had acquainted with nobles and peasants alike from all corners of the empire. His dark brown hair was cut short, bangs held away by a headband. He couldn’t be older than mid-thirty, but his bearing indicated something more ancient. What surprised her the most was his cheerful grin and eyes that twinkled in delight.

His face looked like hers.

“...It’s you,” Hashirama muttered, more to herself as a confirmation. “You... you spoke in my mind... you—!” She pointed at him, shock written all over her face. “You made me—that power... it’s...” Her arm trembled. “It’s... real...”

He stepped forward, grabbing both of her hands. His touch was warm. “I made it on time!” The man exclaimed, smiling. “That was reckless of you, running on snowy path without shoes on!”

“I left mine when I...”

“I know, I know. I reviewed your latest memories. Your family is safe, they are no longer pursued.”

She lifted her face, blinking in confusion. “What do you mean—”

An array of images poured into her mind. Two horses entered her field of vision. They stopped near where she stood—or where he stood in the memory. The riders were hooded, conversing in hushed voices. A brief wave of chakra spread from the smaller rider. Hashirama instantly recognized Tobirama’s signature. She saw Touka’s angular face under the hood. Her brother nodded at her, then they resumed their journey, leaving her behind.

She found herself trying to reach their backs, grasping cold and dry air before his voice pulled her from the vision.

“Last I checked, they have entered the northern borders,” he added, patting her head. “You are safe too, Lady Senju Hashirama.”

She wanted to say thanks, but all she could muster was a choked sob. The news of her father’s execution and the deaths of her younger brothers resurfaced in her mind. Her entire being trembled with grief, and her tears flowed without restraints.

“Little girl,” he cooed, pulling her into his embrace. His voice was soothing. “Blood of our blood. I will make you stronger.

“You have a Moon to chase.”

* * *

.

.

The dancing trees Hashirama saw before passing out were the forest dwellers, a small group of people who worshiped the scorched tree. She had heard of them during one of her lessons, but aside of their reclusive nature and secretive language, she knew nothing else about them. They didn’t talk to her except in the language she understood, but their accent and limited vocabulary hindered any further conversations from happening.

The scorched tree itself was a banyan, the kind that usually grew in a warmer and more humid environment. Like the Senju lands in the south, where smaller banyans can be found in abundance. The trunk and emerged roots were entirely dark, giving an appearance of a dying tree, but its leaves were lush green even in the middle of winter. The branches grew wide, allowing many people and animals took shelter underneath its aerial roots during the day. A face grew on one side of the trunk, which upon closer inspection Hashirama recognized as the man’s face.

“You have a great chakra, like mine,” he told her on their second meeting. He had insisted her to rest her body first. By the time Hashirama woken up from her long sleep, a day had passed, and she was hungry for information from him. “Or rather, you have _my_ chakra.”

Hashirama stared at her own palms, seeing the lines on her skin in the dim light of their mindscape. The study of chakra was a fickle thing, mingling religious lore and factual research. Tobirama’s thing, not hers.

“But how is this possible... Chakra is supposed to originate from oneself. No two members within a family carry similar chakra.”

“We’re more than family!” He cupped her face, giddy. “You have been chosen to accomplish what I couldn’t do ten centuries ago.”

“And what is that?”

He gave her a mysterious smile. “You’ll see tonight.”

The aerial roots were more than just roots. They sucked air during the night, which was why people and animals alike avoided the scorched tree’s shade after sunset. Hashirama, however, felt nothing but comfort underneath. The worshipers laid out furs upon the thick roots for her to curl up, leaning at the trunk. The only thing that slightly bothered her was several people who attached themselves to the tree using the aerial roots connected into their nape. They never woke up again. Other worshipers removed them once they were reduced into husks. What became of them, she never knew.

His statement about the deeper-than-family connection between them was proven when she connected a root into her nape. Instead of having her chakra and energy sucked into the tree, she gained access to his mindscape and energy store. That was how she survived after collapsing.

Tonight’s sky was clear of clouds. Hashirama sat under the branches, holding an aerial root. A worshiper gave her treats, stuffed with fillings made from sweet roots.

“The Moon will grace us with her presence tonight,” she told the noblewoman, bowing and retreating into the dark forest. Hashirama nibbled on a treat, savoring the taste thoroughly. It reminded her to the cakes she used to have back at home with her family.

“You’re still sad,” he said, patting her head affectionately when they met in his mindscape again.

“I miss my family...” Hashirama muttered, staring at her toes, slightly feeling ashamed. She had been living off the worshiper’s hospitality, yet she still yearned for deeper human interactions, which she only got from the scorched tree. On the other hand, it felt wrong to whine to such a revered figure who had done much to save her.

“You will be reunited with your brother and cousin,” he assured her, although it did little change to her mood. “But! Let us talk about good things!” He clapped his hands. “How are you feeling? Any physical changes?”

She forced a smile. “I feel... awakened?” she answered sheepishly, recalling her experience. “The power... your power—”

“Yours.”

“O...urs?”

“You can say it like that.”

“Our power,” she repeated, still didn’t feel right but less wrong than before, “it runs within me, beckoning. My parents and teachers often said my chakra was unusual, but so is my brother Tobirama’s. I thought it’s because our lineage...”

“It is because of your lineage, correct!”

“How can you be so sure?”

He began to pace around, pretending to be thinking deeply. “I did not spend centuries in idle within my tree. I watched over my blood, and hers too.”

 _There are faces in the banyans’ trunk_ , a scholar who once taught her history said. _Eyes closed, mouth closed, but he is watching and listening. You must never lie before these faces._

The man beamed. “I’m happy you remember your history lesson well, young Hashirama.”

“Lord... Ashura.” That was his name. Ashura. The younger son of the Sage, the one who usurped Indra’s throne. He must had been dead for a thousand years, yet here he was... “Weren’t you...”

“Burned to ash by my sister?” He finished it for her. “Yes I was.”

“Wasn’t it Emperor Indra’s doing? I did not recall the lore said you had a sister...”

“The lore and language changed, I get it. Our language did not differentiate between brother and sister, or emperor and empress. Indra...” Ashura closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His expression turned serene. “Indra is my strong and beautiful sister...

“The Moon of my life.”

A powerful surge of emotions drowned Hashirama. She fell to her knees, unable to sort out her own amidst Ashura’s. The waters within their mindscape became restless, causing her to lose her footing. She was choking, panting, struggling; faintly feeling Ashura reached for her, but with him was the waves of melancholic euphoria, threatening to swallow her whole. Her reflex kicked in; she pulled the aerial root from her nape, severing their connection.

Back in the physical world, the girl quickly distanced herself from the tree, shaken to her very core. She dragged herself to a pine tree meters away from him, sat and pulled up her knees to her chest. Ashura’s emotions were a mess of admiration, obsession and something akin to love or lust—whichever it was, it’s utterly foreign for her.

Its intensity frightened her.

If she had his chakra and tasked to finish what he couldn’t do, would that turn her into him too? Heavily obsessed with the Moon?

Ashura might be her distant ancestor, but he had been dead for a thousand years, his life and lore changed a lot as centuries passed. But she belonged in the present. She belonged to her family and people. She belonged to this realm, regardless whether its founder and conqueror was an emperor or empress. A war is brewing. She had to be with her people to stop it.

Hashirama made up her mind. She fastened her shoes and wrapped the cloak tighter around her body. She felt sorry for the worshipers who took care of her, making a mental note to thank them somehow in the future. The girl hadn’t walked far when she stumbled upon a protruding root from the ground. Her left ankle was bound with a wooden branch.

_He knew._

She broke free by growing wood near her ankle, then dashed away. She cared not which direction she ran, only focusing on getting away as far as possible from that scorched tree, from Ashura. The night was fast approaching, and Hashirama was neither blessed with good eyes or possessing the knowledge to conjure light. In haste she stumbled and fell too often, bruising her limbs. She only stopped when a nasty fall tore her lower lip and fatigue weakened her muscles.

“Are you afraid of me?”

Hashirama yelped, turning around to see who was speaking. She sensed nobody, but it was Ashura’s voice, here in the physical world, as real as he was in their shared mindscape. Only then she realized she had stopped near a banyan tree, a living one, with a face carved on its trunk.

“W-who wouldn’t?” she stuttered. “What I saw... felt, was unnatural. Anyone would’ve been frightened.”

“Think, young Hashirama,” said him again. The face’s mouth made no movement but the voice came from within its trunk. “You will die once you step out of this forest I protect. Your pursuers are waiting to capture Ashura’s blood. The news of your awakened mokuton had spread across the realm within days.”

“Then take it back!” she roared, causing nearby birds to fly away in terror. “I don’t want any of this ability!”

“Are you sure? I said I will make you stronger, and I swear I will. Without my mokuton, you won’t be able to protect your family, let alone the realm.”

“I...” Hashirama clenched her fists. He was right. The mokuton was incredibly strong. In a legend, Ashura was said to subdue one of the chakra beasts using this ability. Having no counter argument, she mumbled, “I’m still scared of you.”

“Hashirama, child,” he whispered apologetically. “Come back. I want to show you something important.”

She didn’t budge, warily glancing at the banyan.

“I will not hurt you.”

 _But he could’ve_.

She took a step back.

“...Hashirama.”

Another step.

As branches shot forward, Hashirama created tall fences between her and the banyan. She ran away again, solely relying on the silvery light of the rising moon to guide her escape. Finally she arrived at a clearing, where the soil was bare without any plants, even soft grasses and mosses. Except for the blackened tree ahead of her.

Her heart nearly stopped. Hashirama had been running in circles.

Before she could flee, branches caught her ankles and wrists, dragging her towards the tree. The girl kicked and struggled, futilely trying to free herself while more branches wrapped themselves on her limbs and torso. She fell on her stomach, screaming and hissing. Her fingers dug into the snow and dirt, trying to slow down the branches to no avail.

“I am not your pawn, Ashura!”

Something sharp stung her nape, and everything went black.

* * *

.

.

“I’m sorry,” Ashura apologized the moment Hashirama entered the mindscape. “I shouldn’t have... it’s just got out of control.”

She said nothing, standing tall and proud befit her status. Her psyche was still trembling despite the facade. “I will not be your pawn, my lord,” she seethed.

“You aren’t,” he said coldly, his expression devoid of warmth. “You are the blood of our blood, not just mine. You’re going to face incredible things ahead, and I want you to be prepared to face him.”

“Can you speak more clearly?” she asked, then added, “my lord?”

Ashura offered his hands to her, which she ignored. “Cheer up.” He tilted his head. “We’re going to see the Moon.”

She glared at him.

“You will have your answers, I promise.”

With one last glance of suspicion, she took his hands reluctantly. The warmth from his touch was tinged with the intensity of his earlier outburst.

The darkness around them changed. Suddenly they stood meters before the scorched tree, still hand in hand. Hashirama saw her own body laying face down under the tree, an aerial root connected to her neck. She instinctively tried to approach, but Ashura held her in place.

“We’re still in our mindscape. I bring this image here. Look up.”

The vast sky had stars, but as the moon took its place right above their heads, the stars dimmed, outshone. The scorched tree changed too; small white flowers began to unfurl their petals from the top of the tree, gradually to the lowest branches. Soon the tree seemed to have silvery flowers instead of green leaves. The trees around the clearing glowed silver, their pale bark turned bluish. There were worshipers sitting in the shades between the trees, all had their faces turned towards the moon.

“It’s...” Hashirama blinked, her eyes brimming with tears. “It’s beautiful...” Somehow their earlier arguments forgotten, the moon’s beauty captivated the girl so much that she couldn’t help crying as its light fell on her.

“I only bloom upon her presence,” she heard Ashura spoke, squeezing her fingers in his bigger hands. “My sister, the Moon of my life, whom I love deeply.”

Hashirama could tell that he was crying too. The Moon effortlessly ruled the sky, claiming all the available spaces for itself. Aloof, out of reach, yet she couldn’t help but feeling a pull towards it. She wanted to embrace it, to claim it for herself.

Another image appeared over the tree and the moon. A man, his long hair whipped by the wind, stood facing away from a banyan tree. His surroundings were dimly lit with torches, but Hashirama recognized where it was. The palace’s garden. There was a tree with carved face, which she had passed by several times during her stay. The man lifted his head, glancing around as if he sensed a spy nearby, arms ready for an oncoming attack.

Her lips parted, ready to call him, when he suddenly turned towards her.

_Hashirama?_

“...Madara?”

Both images burst into pieces as a wave of blazing emotions engulfed her. Similar to her previous experience, they drowned her. Now they also burned her; Hashirama’s screams never manifested into audible sounds. Her entire being was shocked by its intensity, but as seconds passed, it gradually dissipated, slowed down, rocking her back and forth. The emotions had no trace of Ashura’s. His presence stayed only on the tips of her fingers, keeping her from falling face down.

They were hers.

The emotions became more bearable, and later set herself alight again in a different way. Her hands slipped from his grasp as her knees weakened. Hashirama hugged herself, trying to contain the sensation.

“What is this...” she sobbed, her vision blurred by her tears. “What’s... what are these!?”

Ashura’s voice sounded distant when he answered cheerfully, “your destiny.”

What came out next from her mouth was another scream, muffled by her own hand. It wasn’t of pain, but blissful. Pure physical pleasure. Hashirama shut her eyes tightly, waiting for its end. Madara’s face swam in her mind, tempting her to rise and reach him. He knew she was there; he had seen her. Madara was so close...

She had to see him. Now. Now _now_ ** _nownow_** \--

“Madara...” Hashirama heard herself sighing his name. Has she always have such intense feelings towards him? Is this what Ashura want? Is this really her destiny?

Ashura crouched near her curled body, gently touching her head. “Because you have my chakra,” he spoke, “my dearest sister too passed her powerful chakra to someone else. Another blood of our blood.”

 _Madara_.

“That boy, right.”

She glanced up, her breath heavy as the waves relented from her psyche. _Will I see him again?_

Ashura nodded.

 _When?_

“When I’ve passed my knowledge to you. It’ll take time. Weeks. Months.” He stared ahead, at the image of banyan and the moon. Clouds had covered the sky, the flowers began to close their petals. “Years, perhaps.”

“My... brother...” _It’s too long, Tobirama will be worried, they will think I’m already dead._

“Don’t worry about it.” He pulled her up. “I have my ways. Just focus on your training.”

 _And Madara._ Hashirama wobbled towards her ancestor. She could trust him, they were family after all. She inherited his powers, and he would keep her safe.

 _When you are a Lady, you have no time to be selfish_ , said her mother before she gave birth to Itama and passed away shortly after. Hashirama had taken her place as Lady Senju, accompanying her father to meetings and gatherings, learning from direct experience. There were selfish noblemen, and the people who served them suffered.

If she was scared of Ashura and his emotions, other people would bear the consequences. Not just her. The war between Uchiha, Senju and their allies could be stopped with their current powers, but it’d take time. The farmers, traders, fishermen... ordinary people that would be affected the most.

If she were going to be queen consort, then she had no rights to be selfish. Ashura might scare her to the core, but he could teach her how to use their powers. And these would tip the balance of the oncoming war.

The realization left a bitter taste on her tongue.

Ashura smiled as she embraced him. He let her leaned at his body, patting her back to calm her down. “And him.”

* * *

.

.

She saw Madara every month, every full moon, before the banyan tree in the palace garden. They never spoke, merely staring at each other. He changed too, like her. Her ancestor was right about him inheriting his sister’s chakra. Their silent meetings weren’t enough to satiate her longing. Until then, Hashirama counted the passing nights patiently.

Just like the banyan who longed for the Moon.


End file.
